


just a drop in the ocean (looking at you, murphy)

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Mama!Clarke, a tiny bit of angst, but so much fluff, hints of depression buried under blankets of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3661680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke won't cheer up, but Murphy won't give up.</p><p>Murder-free for months, but that record's about to break for one of them, isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	just a drop in the ocean (looking at you, murphy)

**Author's Note:**

> More adventures in the lighthouse bunker with Mama Killjoy and Too-Touchy Too-Happy.
> 
> If you haven't read the first part of the series, I would do that first.
> 
> Thank you! :)

“Get up.”

Clarke groaned and launched a pillow at the unwelcome guest, and Murphy caught it out of the air, throwing it right back. How dare he interrupt her nightmares.

It slammed against the side of her face and Clarke rolled over, screaming about how she would not hesitate to strangle him with the bed sheets.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t, now get your ass up. We have plans.” He said, ripping the comforter off of the bed and throwing it to the floor.

“You mean _you_ have plans, I don’t want to work on the entertainment system anymore. Face it, we’re not Raven or Monty, so get used to Mr. Nuclear’s suicide tape if you want to watch something. I’m going back to sleep.”

She leaned over the side of the mattress and pulled the blankets over her head, curling up into a ball.

“Clarke, you’ve been here for two weeks and all you’ve done is sleep. I don’t care how sad your life is. Get. Up.”

She hissed from beneath the sheets, a fatal mistake. Before she could react, she was tossed over his shoulder army-style and being removed from the beautiful, magical, precious bed. She pounded on his back with her fists, to no avail.

She hated him.

Upon reaching the kitchen, he plopped her onto a stool at the bar, where she put her head down on the smooth surface. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Pancakes please, with a side of touch me again and I'll literally scalp you.” Clarke said with false-enthusiasm, and Murphy practically growled in response.

“Shut up Clarke.” He hissed, rifling through a box of MRE’s in the armoire serving as a pantry.

“This one, number 17. This one’s good for morning food or whatever.” He mumbled, tearing open a package and dumping the contents on the counter.

"Morning food?" Clarke whispered, strolling over to the radio and to put in a random disc, tapping all of the buttons that Murphy told her to the first time she tried to figure it out. Music filled the room.

_I haven't been home for a while,_

_I'm sure everything's the same,_

“Clarke, get over here and help me.” Murphy shouted over the music, and Clarke walked over to him with a sway in her step, bumping their hips when she parked next to him at the counter.

When all was said and done with the cooking, Clarke had finally won the surprisingly disgusting chocolate pastry through lots of shoving and yelling, and Murphy was brooding at the table, with more crackers.

She tried not to think about her other friends back at camp, who she still liked way more than him.

She was only being nice so she could stay, right?

-

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

“Piss off Murphy.”

“May I have this dance my lady?”

“Murphy.”

“MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE MY LADY?”

“Go away.”

“She said yes!” He announced to a non-existent crowd, and Clarke scoffed, scooting backwards in her seat.

Murphy grabbed her arm and pulled her off the couch, a bit too roughly, but she kept in mind that he wasn’t known for his gentleness.

Murphy pressed a button on the radio, possibly his favorite commodity in the bunker aside from the shelves stocked with alcohol, and returned to forcibly spin Clarke in a circle.

She held up a middle finger and retreated to her favorite seat, curling up in a blanket and continuing to daydream of her friends. She hated when he tried to cheer her up.

He sighed and stared at her for a minute, trying to come up with something. He shook his head with a frown and headed towards the bathroom to “take another shower”.

Clarke found it peculiar that every time he went to “take a shower”, she never heard the water turn on.

She had already walked in on him checking out his scars in the mirror twice now.

Her bad attitude brought him down, she knew that, but his reasons for being upset were none of her business, and his happiness was not her responsibility.

She was sick of responsibility, she would brood if she wanted to.

-

“Murphy, where are you going?” Clarke called from the couch, setting down her glass of liquor as Murphy ditched his one-man game of pool to jog into the bedroom.

“You and I-“ He said, and stepped out of the room wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, and flung a huge t-shirt at her face, “Murphy- shit!” She squealed, as the clothes knocked over her glass onto the table, spilling it’s contents.

“-are going outside.” Clarke snarled at him she walked past the shirtless boy to gather a towel from the kitchen.

“And why would we do something so dumb?” She grumbled, cleaning up her (his) mess.

“Because I came up with it. Wait, no-“

Clarke bit back a laugh and shrugged her shoulders. “I could wash some clothes and lay them out to dry, I guess.”

“That’s the spirit! I mean, I was thinking more of a fun walk across the desert but-“

She whacked him upside the head as she passed again, dumping the empty glass into the sink. “Go on out, I’ll catch up.” She sighed, gathering worn clothes from the floor, (Damn it, Murphy.) and from her pile at the end of the bed.

He swung open a drawer in the kitchen and grabbed the two largest knives, jogging up the stairs.

“Murphy! Don’t run with knives!”

“Shut up Clarke! I can run with knives!”

It wasn’t much of an argument, but somehow he did have a point.

They’ve all ran with knives.

Christ, he's ran with an automatic rifle.

She’s gone soft.

-

“Hey Princess, check it out!” Murphy screamed across the beach when Clarke came outside in a long shirt, laying a tarp in the sand and spreading out the soaking clothes on top of it. She prayed that the wind wouldn’t blow for a few hours.

“Oh my God, you idiot.”

Murphy stood in the ocean up to his navel, waving his hands and clapping them just on the surface to splash water in all directions.

She wanted to warn him about the sea monster that, based on his story and a nasty scar, almost took his arm off, but surely a thing that big wouldn’t go in waters that shallow?

She picked up one of the knives he left at the base of a tree and scanned the beach, walking around the tree line.

“Clarke, unless you’re worried about mutant hermit crabs coming to attack you-“

“You can never be too careful!”

Even from across the beach she could hear his audible groan, and she held back a smile as a giant wave approached him from behind.

She said nothing.

“What are you looking- oh shit!”

-

And that’s how Clarke ended up having to guide Murphy out of the water by his hand when he completely submerged, got salt water in his eyes and up his nose, and stood there blankly until she came to get him.

Perhaps her birth-control implant had finally worn off, because she managed to obtain a child sometime in the last two weeks. 

And he was already 17.

-


End file.
